


alone time

by TheIcyQueen



Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Canonical Character Death, Choose Your Own Adventure, Dark, Gen, Hannah POV, Heavy Angst, Horror, POV Second Person, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-22 00:29:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22439815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIcyQueen/pseuds/TheIcyQueen
Summary: You wake up in a dark, cold place after a horrible, terrible, humiliating night. Everything hurts, you're hungry, you're confused...but at least you have your sister.What do you do?
Comments: 13
Kudos: 24





	alone time

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This is mostly just a way for me to test out the "Choose your own adventure" formatting available here on AO3, so please, don't hesitate to let me know if there are any problems with the links! 
> 
> Fair warning: If you "repeat" a section, or find yourself circling back to an earlier choice, sometimes extra text will show up at the bottom of the screen - I'm working on trying to fix that when it happens, but I'm SO not a code-person and I'm only pretending to know what I'm doing here ;)

You’re not sure whether you’re awake or not—that’s all you know. The world around you is dark and wet and bitterly cold, and there’s a taste in the back of your throat that makes you think of the dentist for some reason you can’t quite latch onto. 

Are your eyes open? Are they closed? Does it even matter anymore? 

That same nothing swirls around you, surrounds you, seeping into your eyes and brain, and for awhile the world goes still. Maybe you sleep, maybe you don’t, and maybe down here there’s not so much of a difference between those two things. You give in to the blackness, whatever that means, but the cold never leaves your bones. 

Do you dream?  
Do you wake up?

They’re all laughing at you why are they all laughing at you what did you ever do to deserve any of this you just wanted to have a nice night and have fun and hot tubs and the mountain and fireplaces marshmallows and Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike he’s laughing too why is he laughing too they’re all laughing at you they’re all laughing this is so funny to them it’s the funniest thing they’ve ever seen because you’re a joke do you know that you’re a joke to them nothing but a fucking joke and that’s all you’ll ever be it’s all you ever were how could you ever think Mike would

You wake up

Your face is warm. 

The moment you’re conscious enough to understand that thought, grasp what it means, you’re flooded with a million others, but only one makes itself known. 

You HURT. 

It’s more than that, so much more…you don’t have words for the pain in your head, in your back, in your leg, oh God, your leg! How did you sleep through any of this?! It feels like your veins are full of fire ants and your muscles are broken glass and it’s all you can do to open your mouth and scream on top of your lungs. You can’t tell if any sound comes out because your head is ringing like a gong someone just smashed and your throat is made of sandpaper. Something echoes back to you, but—

Echoes?

Echoes?

Where in the lodge would there be echoes? And why do your clothes feel so wet? And—

Like a rubber band stretched too far, everything snaps into place. You’re not in the lodge. You’re nowhere near the lodge. You left the lodge last night, left its warmth and safety…well no, there was nothing safe about the lodge, that’s why you left in the first place. You left because…

You open your eyes, squinting against the sun. You raise a hand to try and block some of it out of your eyes, but even after shading yourself, there’s a telltale ache on that side of your face, only adding to the furious wasp-buzz of agony everywhere else. It takes you a second to understand why you can’t make anything out clearly; you pat at your sweaty, sticky face, and sure enough, your glasses are gone.

Fuck. 

Mom and Dad are going to kill you. Those frames were expensive, and you just had to have the no-glare lenses, didn’t you? God, if they’re broken you’re totally SOL, how are you going to function if everything’s blurry? How—

The pain in your leg is just too much. You go to grab for it in some childish hope that it’ll help. It doesn’t. Instead your entire body spasms in a massive cramp and you scream again, this time hearing a sad whistling sound coming from your throat. Oh this is bad. This is badbadbad. You’re half-up, half-down, and through the haze of your pain, you realize something.

Something's really wrong with your leg.  
You have no idea where you are.  
Beth's lying next to you.

No.

Nonononononono.

You can’t even look at it, the shape of your pantleg is all wrong, and there’s an angle where there shouldn’t be, and—

The world starts to grey around you.

You need to focus on something else.

Try and figure out where you are.  
Check on Beth.

The sun that woke you up is coming from right over your head—fucking duh. You tilt your face back up that way, but without your glasses all you can really see is a blurry tunnel leading to a brilliantly blue sky. You’re…what? Underground? Does that make sense? How did you get underground?

Everything hurts. Everything hurts so badly, but you manage to pat around the ground around you, blind as a bat. Rock? Rock. More rock. It’s icy cold and slick with what could be moss, only you don’t think moss grows on the mountain, does it? It’s too cold for moss. Maybe it’s something else. But if you’re underground—

Your head throbs with something ten times worse than the worst migraine you’ve ever had. Then you remember the cliff. The thing. You remember falling and falling and falling and…oh God. 

Oh God.

You remember Beth.

She’s asleep. She’s absolutely just asleep. She’s asleep.

That's all it is.

Nothing else.

She probably got hurt in the fall like you did, but you were sleeping until a minute ago, right? So that's all she's doing. Sleeping. She'll be hurt when she wakes up, but she will wake up. She will. 

She's not sleeping.  
Try to wake her up.

Yes she is! She’s sleeping, just like you were a second ago!

She's okay!

She's always okay!

She's the tough one out of the two of you, and if you could survive that fall, then of course she could! And did!

She's sleeping. Beth is sleeping. It's just like in that stupid nursery rhyme the jewelry boxes Josh got you guys plays: Are you sleeping, are you sleeping, sister Beth? And the answer is yes.

With her eyes open like that?  
Try to wake her up.

SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHE’S JUST SLEEPING! SHE HAS TO BE SLEEPING, SHE HAS TO BE. 

Don't even let yourself start to think that way! Don't do it! It's sick and it's wrong and it's...it's...it's impossible!

The fall probably wasn't even that bad! It couldn't have been that far!

You need to stop panicking, you're going to make yourself even sicker than you already feel, and that won't help anyone.

She’s going to wake up and be fine and the two of you are going to scream and cry and laugh about how stupid this is and how stupid you are and how stupid it was to think that maybe Mike could ever…

There's something off about the angle of her back...  
Try to wake her up.

No there’s not. No there’s fucking not. She tosses and turns in her sleep, that’s all. She’s done it since you were babies. She’s fine. She’s asleep and she’s fine. She’s gonna have a real monster of a headache when she wakes up, and hoo boy she’s gonna be pissed at you, but she’s gonna be fine.

You always do this. Why do you always do this?

You immediately jump to the worst possible conclusion, freak out about it, and then what does that get you? What does that ever get you?

This is just like last night.

This is just like the guest room.

Try to wake her up.

It takes more effort than you could’ve expected to drag yourself just a few inches closer to her. Your body suddenly feels like it’s made out of rocks, or like it’s somehow not yours anymore—it’s just a heavy load of something that you’re forced to schlep around, like how your backpack freshman year was always so heavy. It wasn’t really a part of you, it was essentially a sack of crap, but it was a sack of crap you needed, so you hoisted it up onto your shoulders day after day and made do. That’s what you’re doing now, only the weight is your legs, not a bunch of novels for Language Arts and your journal.

Beth, you try to say, your throat making that same awful, weak whistling noise. Beth come on, get up.

You reach out and shake her, the fabric of her sweater strangely stiff under your fingers. It crunches with frost. Her head shakes as if to say, Nonono, go away, let me sleep five minutes longer, so you shake her harder. She doesn’t wake up.

Try harder.  
Oh no.

Beth doesn’t wake up.

Beth...

Beth doesn't...wake up.

Why won't she wake up?

This isn't right.

This isn't right at all.

You woke up, you were fine, so she has to wake up too, right? She has to be fine too...right?

Right?

Try harder.  
Oh no.

For a long, long time, you sit there in the white noise of your pain, letting the waves of agony wash over you like the surf back at Myrtle Beach last summer. That had been such a nice vacation, hadn’t it? Dad had taken all that time off to spend a whole week with you guys instead of working himself to the bone like most summers, Mom had rented that nice little house right off the boardwalk, Beth had gotten that wicked sunburn, and Josh had been just okay. On the days the three of you hadn’t wandered the boardwalk from dusk until dawn, eating nothing but fries slathered in malt vinegar and caramel corn, you and your sibs had plunked yourselves down on the beach like you were five again, burying your feet in the wet sand, waiting for the foamy waves to come crashing over you, screaming every time they turned out colder than you’d thought on your sun-warmed skin. 

It’s weird what thoughts come to you like that as you stare at your dead twin. They play and play and play over themselves like a skip in an old record. Some part of you feels like you’ve thought those thoughts before and remembered those memories. Maybe you have, maybe you haven’t, maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe nothing matters. 

You realize your glasses are right there, right by your hand, but you don’t reach for them. Suddenly you don’t want to be able to see clearly. You don’t want to see what you already know to be true. You don’t want to look at Beth, crumpled and cold. It’s easier to pretend she’s asleep this way. 

Time passes.

And passes.

Your little space grows darker as the sun moves farther away. What are you supposed to do now? What can you do now?

Call for help!  
What's the point? Go back to sleep.

Help! Shit, okay, okay, you can do this! You can!

You pat your pockets, wincing each time your hands come in contact with your legs, but…fuck. Oh fuck! 

You drop your head into your hands and feel yourself begin to cry. Your tears are hot on your cheeks and then very, very cold in the blink of an eye. They leave slick, shiny patches running down your face, and some stupid, useless part of your brain worries your mascara is running. You hate that part of your brain. You hate it more than you hate anything else because it’s the part of your brain that whispers stupid shit like that in your ears 24/7. It’s the part of your brain that made you think they were all your friends, the part of your brain that made you think maybe Mike really did want to meet up with you alone, the part of your brain that told you It’s fine, it’s okay, just leave your phone charging in your bedroom tonight, it’s not like you’ll need it in the guest room!

It’s hard to say how long you sit there crying. It feels like hours. It’s probably only a few minutes. Everything is cold and stuffy in your head, making all your thoughts feel like taffy being pulled to strings by those weird machines. 

What matters is that when you drop your hands from your flushed, puffy, tear-streaked face, something has lifted—only a little bit, only a fraction of an inch, but enough for you to think more clearly. 

You left your phone in the lodge. In your bedroom. Charging in its dock. Fine. That’s fine. Because there’s another option.

Beth's phone.  
Maybe someone can hear you if you yell.  
Give up. This is pointless.

You don’t want to look back at Beth, but you have to. You have to. She never goes anywhere without her phone, and you almost think you can remember her holding it when you bumped into her right before sneaking off to the guest room…or maybe that’s just wishful thinking. 

Either way, you know what you have to do.

You turn to her again, swallowing hard against the growing lump in your throat. You don’t know if it’s fear or puke or something worse, so you bear down and try to focus. You need to get out of here. You need to get out of here. 

The way she’s lying there on the ground hurts you—not like your leg hurts, not like your head hurts, but hurts in a new and exciting way, sending hot veins of something curling through your intestines and chest like the ivy that always grew on the side of the student center back on campus, climbing and weaving its way through each nook and cranny until it formed a kind of second skin. Without your glasses on, it really does look like she’s sleeping. That sort of makes it easier. 

Sort of.

You try to wake her up again.  
You rummage through her pockets for her phone.

Beth doesn’t have any pockets. 

Of course she wore those fucking leggings. Of course.

The only pockets she had were in her jacket, and...

You frantically search the pockets of the jacket you're wearing, but there's...nothing. No phone. Either she left it at the lodge, or she lost it while she was chasing your dumb ass through the snow.

Shit.

The others have to be looking for you, right? Maybe they can hear you if you yell!  
No one’s looking for you. This is what they all wanted, isn’t it? Don’t waste your voice, they wouldn’t answer you even if they heard you.

You yell.

You keep yelling.

You yell until your mouth tastes like old pennies and your lungs itch.

Yelling feels good, but you can’t get over the ridiculous fear (hope?) that all the noise will wake Beth.

Your yelling turns to screaming as the world around you goes dark again, the sun setting and storm clouds moving in to hide the moon and stars. 

No one hears you. Or at least no one comes to help.

That’s because they’re not looking for you, you stupid fucking moron. Why would they look for you? This is what they wanted. This is what they all WANTED. They wanted you to get lost forever, they wanted you to fucking die. Why don’t you do something right for once in your goddamn life and give them what they asked for?

You don’t remember lying down, but you’re horizontal again, lying next to Beth. It’s like you’re kids again, sleeping snuggled close in the side bedroom at Aunt Jodi’s house.

That was back in the old days when you both wore your hair long and you didn't need glasses and no one could tell the difference between the two of you. Or at least they pretended like they couldn't. Maybe everyone just pretended. People are good at that, you realize, pretending.

Pretending to go along with little harmless jokes like twin sisters switching clothes, pretending to care, pretending to be your friends, pretending they actually like you, pretending, pretending, pretending...

You're not so good at pretending, but you do your best to think of Aunt Jodi's house and the tents you and Beth would make out of sheets, huddled close as you flipped through your favorite Harry Potter books until way past your bedtime. You try to pretend.

It's hard to say if it helps.

You float off to sleep with the hope you’ll wake up to the sound of bacon and eggs frying in the kitchen…or that you won’t wake up at all. 

Do you dream about the guest room?  
Do you dream about the cliff?  
Do you dream about food?  
Do you wake up?

Mike’s laughing and laughing and laughing and suddenly all the others are too the monsters under the bed and the monster in the closet and the monster in the shadows and Mom always promised there weren’t monsters in any of those places but there were and there are and their grins split and widen and they’re all teeth and screams and you’re running running running away until you can’t breathe and all you can see are Mike’s perfectly white perfectly straight teeth and you can’t hear your sobs over their laughter and the worst part is you don't know what you did you don't know what you did to make them all hate you so much and make them all want to laugh and point at you and why you why did it have to be you none of it was your fault you didn't do anything wrong all you wanted to do was hang out and laugh and talk to Mike that's all you wanted to do that's all you ever wanted to do and why can you still hear them laughing why do they never stop laughing will you ever stop hearing the laughing they were supposed to be your friends they were all supposed to be your friends and you were supposed to be safe in your house and everything was just supposed to be

You wake up gasping like a fish out of water.

It’s following you and it’s big and it has too many joints or too many legs or too many somethings and it reminds you of that awful terrible shitty monster thing Dad brought home last fall made of rubber and plastic and molded to almost be human but almost not and he laughed when he showed it to you and Beth gagged around her snack but Josh loved it oh he loved it and he and Dad laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed but you could only imagine it in the dark corners of your bedroom with its too big eyes and its mouth with too many teeth and now it’s behind you RIGHT BEHIND YOU and you feel its breath and its stinking claws are at the back of your neck and it smells like old things dead things and its not a person its not but it is you think maybe it was once but maybe it wasn’t and Beth is screaming and Beth is crying and she’s grabbing your hand and you’re falling falling slipping but she won’t let you go she won’t let you go she’ll never let you go she’s your sister and she loves you but your wrist is slipping and then everything

You jump awake before you can hit the ground.

The miners what miners the miners were cold and they were so so hungry Hannah they were so hungry and all they wanted was to live just like you want to live and they didn’t want to do the things they did but they had to you get that right they HAD to and whatever it was that put the idea into their heads back then is in your head now creeping through your ribs like ivy right that was your thought just like ivy well it’s not ivy and it was never ivy but it’s hungry as ivy is and before long you’re gonna see just how hungry it is you’re gonna see just how hungry you are even now your stomach’s tying itself into knots how long do you think you’ll last how long do you think any of them lasted they were so hungry and soon you will be too soon it'll be the only thing you can think about soon it'll be the only thing that matters soon it'll be all that's left of you just hunger and hunger and more hunger where that came from until you're desperate and you do something you'll regret

Your stomach wakes you up.

The cold has mostly numbed you. Your body, your brain, everything. Even in Beth’s padded jacket you’re shivering. You can’t make the shivers stop.

You manage to drag yourself a ways away from the scene of the crime, so to speak, getting a better idea of where you are. The ice on the ground helps. It’s like the Slip ‘N Slide Dad would put out in the backyard during summer breaks when you were still in grade school. Only it was never this cold in the backyard. Your fingers never turned this weird greyish color in the backyard. 

It’s hard to tell without your glasses, but this place seems to go on forever. The ice gives way to dirt. The dirt gives way to something that might be wood. You scream into the cavern, hoping wood means people, and that people might hear you.

No one does.

There’s no answer but the echoes of your own voice, sounding strange and inhuman as they bounce off the walls. Somewhere farther on, you think maybe you can hear water. 

Just when you think your muscles can’t take anymore, you find your spot next to Beth again, and the world goes dark. 

Do you dream about the guest room?  
Do you dream about the cliff?  
Do you dream about food?  
Beth is starting to rot.

She can’t rot.

Sleeping people don’t rot.

And even if she wasn’t sleeping, which she is, it’s too cold down here to rot. You learned about that in a history class once, you think...maybe anthropology? Sometimes scientists would go to the tundra or other really cold places and find people so perfectly preserved that it looked like they'd only died the night before, or looked like they could've been...

Sleeping.

So Beth isn't rotting. She'll never rot. Never.

And neither will you.

You push the thought from your head and will yourself to sleep.

Do you dream about the guest room?  
Do you dream about the cliff?  
Do you dream about food?  
Her eyes are sinking into her skull.

Stop.

You can’t think about this right now.

You don't look at Beth. You can't bring yourself to do that. The nasty voice in your head wants you to, wants you to check and see if she looks differently than she's supposed to, but you can't. Not now. Maybe not ever. If you look at her, then you're surrendering. You're giving in. You're admitting something's wrong, and nothing's wrong.

Nothing. Is. Wrong.

You try to go back to sleep.

Do you dream about the guest room?  
Do you dream about the cliff?  
Do you dream about food?  
You're sleeping next to a corpse, Hannah.

Shut up shut up shut UP!!!

Stop!

Just stop thinking these horrible things! These aren't your thoughts, these are things Josh would think to himself, and you're not him! You're not about to start thinking like him, either! Not now! This isn't the time or the place, and he's not exactly known for being a shining beacon of hope during a crisis anyway, so stop!

Just stop!!!

It’s not a problem, she’s fine, you have plenty of time to think about what to do next because it’s only been a day!

Do you dream about the guest room?  
Do you dream about the cliff?  
Do you dream about food?  
Has it?

Wait...

...

...

...

Wh...what does that mean?

Has it only been a day?  
Of course it's only been a day!

…yeah, it's...

No, it...

But...

You woke up. You looked around. You saw Beth. You felt around to explore. You...

Wait.

Wait...

You...

Oh no.

Oh yes.

Burying Beth is the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do, but you do it. The grave is almost too shallow to cover her, but you manage it. A couple rotten pieces of wood nearby are fashioned into a grave marker. It’s not for your benefit, you know, because you’ll never, ever, ever forget the night she died, not as long as you live.

The problem is you don’t know how long that’ll be. 

How long will you live?

The water you heard before is old and tastes like metal, but you drink it anyway. You have to. It makes your stomach cramp. A few times you start to gag, but there’s nothing in your stomach for you to retch up, save for saliva and foam. 

You lie down with your head at the foot of your sister’s grave and stare at the stalactites above you. If one fell right now, would it kill you? Would it hurt? Or are you too cold to feel anything like that? 

You shouldn’t be thinking about things like that. You’re going to be rescued. Mom and Dad and Josh and Sam will find you. They will. You’ll go home and be in bed soon and everything will be okay.

Not everything. 

Not Beth.

You’re too tired to think about Beth.

Think about Josh instead.  
Think about Sam instead.  
Think about your friends instead.

Why didn’t he try to save you? Why didn’t he run out with Beth? Where was he? Where is he? Why doesn’t he care?

Did he ever care? Even once?

He's been keeping all those awful secrets from you and Beth...did he not trust you? Did he think you couldn't handle it?

Why isn't it him who's down here? That's what he wanted, isn't it? Isn't it?!

You’re too angry to think about Josh.

Think about Sam instead.  
Think about your friends instead.

Why didn’t she try to save you? Why didn’t she run out with Beth? Where was she? Where is she? Why doesn’t she care?

She'd been giving you those sad, tight-lipped smiles of hers all weekend whenever you brought up Mike. Did she...did she know what they were planning? Why didn't she stop them? She could've stopped them!

Everyone listens to Sam, everyone loves her! Not like you.

You’re too angry to think about Sam.

Think about Josh instead.  
Think about your friends instead.

What fucking friends? 

You don’t have any fucking friends.

What about Emily?  
What about Jess?  
What about Matt?  
What about Chris?  
What about Ash?  
What about Mike?  
You don't want to think about anything.

Emily? Emily? 

You thought you were her friend. You were wrong. She doesn’t like you. She never did. No one ever did. She just wanted to laugh at you. She thought it was funny you had a crush on Mike. She thought you were pathetic and sad and you proved her right.

Emily doesn’t have friends. Emily has accessories. 

You don’t want to think about Emily.

What about Jess?  
What about Matt?  
What about Chris?  
What about Ash?  
What about Mike?  
You don't want to think about anything.

Jess has only ever been friends with Emily. God you wish you could’ve seen that before. Why didn’t you see the red flags? They were always whispering behind their hands, giggling to themselves…

You should’ve known. You should’ve fucking known. 

Jess never cared about you, not even a little bit.

You don’t want to think about Jess.

What about Emily?  
What about Matt?  
What about Chris?  
What about Ash?  
What about Mike?  
You don't want to think about anything.

Matt always seemed so nice! So sweet! He was always smiling, always nice to you.

Why would he do that to you? 

Why would he laugh like that?

You don’t want to think about Matt.

What about Emily?  
What about Jess?  
What about Chris?  
What about Ash?  
What about Mike?  
You don't want to think about anything.

Chris is Josh’s friend. He’s never given a shit about you.

Why would he?

You don’t want to think about Chris.

What about Emily?  
What about Jess?  
What about Matt?  
What about Ash?  
What about Mike?  
You don't want to think about anything.

Why was Ash even in the guest room? Why? None of the others liked her—she was always Josh’s friend, not theirs! Why would they laugh at you when they could’ve been laughing at her?

Why weren’t they laughing at her? 

She deserved it so much more than you did.

You don’t want to think about Ash.

What about Emily?  
What about Jess?  
What about Matt?  
What about Chris?  
What about Mike?  
You don't want to think about anything.

That's too much.

You can't do that. Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

There's...there's too much there.

You don’t want to think about Mike.

What about Emily?  
What about Jess?  
What about Matt?  
What about Chris?  
What about Ash?  
You don't want to think about anything.

You don’t know how long you lie there, watching the ceiling, listening to the water, feeling your heartbeat grow fainter and fainter in your chest.

Your leg doesn’t hurt anymore, though, and that’s a good thing, isn’t it? 

Isn’t it? 

A new problem rears its ugly head. You’re hungry. 

You’re so fucking hungry.

There's nothing to eat.

But that's not...totally true, is it?

...is it?

You don't want to admit it, don't want to think about it, but...but there is something to eat.

Just...not the sort of 'something' you want to eat.

But there's something, all right.

No there's not.

Yes. There is.

You can't keep pretending that there isn't, because you're awful at pretending. Horrible, really. No one's buying it, and that's saying something, because you're the only person down here.

You need to eat.

You know that, don't you?

You know what'll happen if you don't.

No!

So you’re just going to starve? Is that it?

No one is coming for you.

No one is going to find you.

The only person who can save you is you and right now you're not doing a very good job at trying.

You're too hungry to think clearly.

There's nothing to eat down here!

You know that’s not true.

Stop.

Stop.

Stop.

Stop.

Stop.

There’s something you can eat.

no

no

no

no

no

no

no

no

no

no

no

no

no

no

no

no

no

You’re so hungry.

Your stomach is knots made of thorns and glass, and you're hollow. There's nothing inside of you. Your mouth is drier than a desert and your hands are shaking and the awful fluid seeping out of your leg and into your jeans has crusted over into permafrost. Everything is running on empty, and you, oh you...

You're dying.

You are going to die if you don't do something real soon.

Real, real soon.

So here's the question: What are you gonna do about it?

Are you going to let yourself die? Are you going to give them all what they want?

Or are you going to live? Survive? Show them they were wrong?

THERE'S NOTHING TO EAT!  
Start digging.

You tell Beth you’re sorry.

She doesn’t hear you.

No one does.

The worst part, though? The worst? The part that twists at your heart as you swallow back the second surge of vomit threatening to ruin all the work you've put into saving yourself? The part that buzzes in your head nonstop as you chew and tear and rip and gulp?

You thought it might be guilt.

But it's not. No. It's so much worse than that.

It's worse because you're still hungry.  
It's worse because you're still angry.

And you’ve never felt better.


End file.
